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The ground never gets softer. With every step, the ground just got harder and harder on his feet. It did not matter if he rested. It did not matter how few of steps he took in a single day, or how many. No matter, the ground just got harder and harder, day after day, night after night.

And there were so many days. Days of walking. Days of being alone. Forever. For Dillon Gian, it felt like forever. Dillon had lost count of the days, the weeks, the months, the years he'd been walking. Forever seemed like a fitting time frame.

“One more day, one more day...”

Forever, Dillon hadn't seen any person of which he loved. He hadn't even truly seen himself, his old, back in the days for they were taken. Everybody.

“One more day, one more day...”

Not everybody was taken, at the start at least. God had claimed only those worthy of his kingdom to go with him, leaving those behind that had made a livelihood on the profits of sin. And from there, Satan came in and claimed most of the rest. Their screams can be heard if you try.

“One more day, one more day...”

There were still those left over. They were enigmas, those who God believed could repent. Those who could achieve redemption. Unwilling to let the Devil take these who are willing to seek his virtue, he left them, as did the Devil. They remained. Alone. Searching for redemption.

“One more day, one more day...”

Redemption is not easy to achieve. Nobody knows exactly how to achieve it. Some have devoted life to prayer. Some have devoted life to others. Some have devoted life to ending life, mostly their own. These are the cynicals, the people who weren't sure if we were left behind or sent to hell. The answer is we were left behind. You can't die in hell. Not in the sense of the word.

Dillon Gian walked on the hard ground, step after step, harder and harder. He walked alone. He was use to it.

“One more day, one more day...”

One more day. A phrase stated day in and day out by those left behind, the enigmas, the Only. That was what they called themselves. The Only. There were three left. They had twenty. Out of a world of people, twenty fit in neither heaven nor hell. Five had left to seek others. They never returned.

They left forever ago.

Five had left in search of God by way of the bullet. They never found him. As Dredge had said after each person died:

“What a waste of a bullet”

It's true. They had very few left. Those bullets could have fed them for a very long time.

Three of them had left for the inner city, where the believed they'd find redemption from taking what there was. They lost three of us to disease.

Dillon walked alone. Ripped jeans. Ripped shirt. Ripped arms, legs, face and body. He was ripped apart, just like the world in which he lived. He trudged through the desert, body limp with endless exhaustion, a burlap sack thrown over his shoulder. He trudged forward. Base camp was near.

Dillon had never believed in God before. He had enjoyed the idea of him, the thought of complete freedom. The thought that waiting was pointless, for we would all end up in one place or another. He enjoyed the thought that there was always a chance. Now he knew that there isn't always a chance.

The ground just got harder and harder as Dillon walked toward base camp.

The water was boiling over the fire. Supper was soon to be served. It was getting late. They should be back soon, thought Dean as he sat by the fire. The sun was sinking low into the horizon. They have got to be back soon. They have never stayed out past sunset. Never

Dean at least wouldn't. It was his night at camp though. Dillon and Zach have been out for untold hours. They never kept track of time. They tried at first, but it just depressed them further.

Unless there was more then the meager gatherings that they had found over the time, they should never be out this late. Only something awe-inspiring would keep them out this late. Maybe others? Maybe they had returned? Dean tried to keep himself from sinking into these kind of thoughts, for they would provide him with hope. Dean had enough hope come and gone through his meager life already.

Only something awesome, awe-inspiring. At this point, almost anything would be considered that. Anything besides barren wasteland, thistles, dangerous animals and the rotting corpses of said animals. Maybe food that would have been considered edible in the past? This would be a first. Never have The Only been so lucky.

Dean sat around the fire at what was, at best, a makeshift camp. Five tents surrounded the fire, made of broken, rotting wood and blood stained hides. Three tents were for sleeping. One tent had a giant hole dug in it. This is where they kept the meat, although not for long, for fear of it going rancid. The fifth tent was kept on Dillon's request. He had had a hard time dealing with Dredge's death.

Dean was dirty. They all were. Dirty faces, hands, feet, clothes. Blood, sweat, tears, dirt and pain washed through their skin and dyed it in such ways that it hurt sometimes. If they let it.

“Where the hell are they?” Dean asked himself, searching for answers in the fire and the boiling water which was above it. The steam rose into him, in a rush of sickening humidity. He kept glancing towards the horizon, looking, waiting. “What the fuck did they find?”


Dean fell off his seat, almost onto the fire. The word had come so clear and so forcefully from nowhere. He flipped around to see Dillon was standing in front of him. He was smiling, not looking at Dean.

“Dillon, what the hell? You scared the shit out of me. Where have you been? Where's Zach?” Dean began to rant off as he got to his feet, not bothering to brush the hard dust off himself.

Dillon didn't look at him at first. He looked to the sky, looked to the stars, as if trying to will them down to crush him in a fiery blaze of supernova. Dean noticed the burlap sack sat at his feet. The daily catch was suppose to be sitting in it.

“Dillon, answer me! Where the hell is Zach?”

“He's been redeemed,” Dillon said softly. Dean's puzzled look was detected by Dillon without him even having to look, “He was redeemed because I set him free.”

“What do you mean you set him free?” Dean said, detecting a hint of darkness never before viewed in his fellow Only's voice before. He circled around the fire, opposite of Dillon, fearing the worst.

“I mean I set him free from here,” Dillon said, eyes on the skies, “he asked me to. Not with words, but with belief. He knew he wanted to be set free. We all wanted to be set free at the beginning, but it's no longer a want, no longer a need. It's something more, something that runs through me, you. It ran through Dredge, Christopher, Bobby, Thomas, Mandi, Cass. And it ran through Zach.” Dillon's gaze never wavered from the sky. He didn't blink. “But what Zach didn't know is, I found it.”

Dillon's pause sent shivers down Dean's spine. A long pause, with many deep breathes being inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. Finally Dean asked, “Found what?”

Dillon's head rolled gently, mechanically, his eyes, trying hard not to look from the sky, but the eventually had to obey. They rolled down to meet Dean's gaze. More shivers went down Dean's back, this time more violently then the last. Dillon's eyes had changed. Some more animal-like traits were found within them, as if his soul had been one of those rotting corpses, finally found and being picked away at by scavengers.

“Redemption. I found redemption. The way to redemption.” Dillon said, his smile growing sadistic now. “Redemption. It was so easy to find.”

Dean was now backing away from the fire, away from Dillon. Fear swept over him, as his heart began to pump unbelievably hard, it almost popped out of his chest.

“We lost redemption a long time ago,” Dean said smoothly, trying to calm his friend. He never took his eyes off Dillon.

“We lost it in the search for it. We lost because of our pathetic and desperate lives,” Dillon retorted, becoming unbelievably enraged in a matter of seconds, “We lost it because we did not deserve, we did not respect it, and we did not accept it when we were given it! That is why it has been given to me to make this happen, Dean! That is why it is my duty to redeem you!”

The sharpened rock entered Dean's head quickly and fluently, with a swift crack of bone and flesh. The confused and frightened look which had consumed his expression since Dillon's arrival was still frozen. Blood splattered down his face, onto his clothes. It leaked onto the ground in which he now lay.

Dillon slowly crept up to the body of Dean. He took a knee be his side, looking down at the blood which now covered his friend. He pried the rock out from his skull. With mechanical eyes, he pounded the sharpened end of the rock into Dean's skull again. He ripped the flesh and crushed the bone of his only remaining friend. The blood splattered up into his mouth and eyes with each upswing, only to lead to another attack onto the corpse. The sickening sound of each swing fell on deaf ears. Dillon dropped the rock, his tool of redemption.

He smiled. He smiled a smile of a relieved man, a man who's world was just freed of the pain and sorrow that had once been consumed by it. He looked up to the blazing stars, waiting....waiting....waiting....

Waiting. Dillon's smile was now robbed of him. He stared at the stars

“You said one more day! You promised one more day! You promised me one more day! Where's my redemption? Where's my redemption?”

He stared up at those blazing supernovas, daring them to crush him. He never believed that they would succeed.


I don't you can see, I only use my superpowers for good...

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by lifeasweknowit

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